


alone together (in a crowded room)

by nova_cantica (orphan_account)



Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Actors, F/M, Friendship, Musicians, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nova_cantica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reclusive songwriter finds herself in an inconvenient situation when she realizes she's falling for her new housemate Tom. Things gets even more complicated when she realizes he might like her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Birthday Party

**Author's Note:**

> First story! Hope you enjoy...

About two months after the release of _Thor: The Dark World_ , Tom Hiddleston received an unexpected letter in the mail: an invitation to Scarlett Johansson’s 29th birthday party.

It had been ages since Tom had actually seen Scarlett in person. After _The Avengers_ , he returned to his home in London, away from all of the lovely people he had met while making of the film. When Tom phoned to RSVP, he offhandedly mentioned his interest in moving to Los Angeles, and Scarlett naturally jumped at the chance to aid her friend in his search for an apartment.

"You should stay with me until you find a place," she insisted eagerly. "I could move you into the guest room after the party."

Tom, ever the gentleman, politely declined. "That's very kind of you, Scarlett, but—"

"Come on, Tom!" Scarlett interrupted, excited. "It'll be like _The Avengers_ all over again! Remember all the late-night parties we had in your trailer?"

Tom smiled. It was hard to forget Jeremy Renner getting down to "Single Ladies"—especially since the man had been pissed as a parrot and stripped down to only his boxers. Things had gotten a little out of hand after Scarlett showed up with the booze.

"So what do you say?" Scarlett asked, cutting Tom's private flashback short. "Will you move in with me?"

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Tom sighed, feigning exasperation. He yanked his cell phone away from his ear when Scarlett replied with an ecstatic shriek.

A few days later, Tom found himself in the first-class cabin of a plane headed for L.A.

He arrived at Scarlett’s place a little before midnight on the day of the party, blinking up at her massive house through the window of a rented car. The hulking Spanish-colonial was all stuccoed walls and red tiles, and the surrounding courtyard was littered with limp streamers and deflated balloons. Tom had anticipated an intimate gathering among Scarlett’s closest friends, but after having a tipsy, nameless brunette invite him into the house, he found that he had been horribly mistaken.

With a bit of hesitance, Tom stepped into the living room. Shiny, pretty invitees greeted him with friendly smiles, loosened by champagne. Some people were draped over the oak banister of the winding staircase. Others were sprawled out across the carpet. Fingers were clasped around crystal flutes brimming with alcohol. Music was blaring so loudly that Tom could feel the thrum of the bass running through his Italian-leather shoes.

Tom stood there fidgeting with the present in his hands before he noticed the birthday girl and broke into a broad smile. Her gorgeous sapphire frock flounced and her blonde curls bounced as she strode towards him. She flung her tanned arms around Tom’s neck, drawing him in close. He inhaled deeply, detecting hints of cinnamon in her hair. Nostalgia overtook Tom, suddenly reminded of the way Scarlett had baked for the cast nonstop during the filming of _Avengers_.

“How was your flight?” she asked, leaning back from their embrace, “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m a bit drowsy, but I’ll be alright,” Tom assured Scarlett with a dismissive wave, “I wouldn’t dare miss your birthday.” He presented his crudely wrapped gift, thrusting it into Scarlett’s eager hands. “I hope you like it. I'm rubbish at gift-giving, so don't get your hopes up."

“I’m sure it's great," Scarlett laughed, tucking the present under her arm.

Tom stuffed his empty hands into his pockets and glanced around. “This is quite some party.”

Scarlett chuckled. “It’s a bit much, I know,” she admitted. “But it's my birthday, and I just wanted to do something fun on one of my only days off in forever.” Tom grimaced sympathetically; being in the public eye was a job that never ceased.

Scarlett gave an unbothered shrug. “I’ll go put your present with the others.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Oh, do you want a drink? What do you like?"

Tom, far too tired to get pissed, resisted the urge to request a cup of Twinings. “Surprise me,” he suggested.

Scarlett nodded, giving Tom a thumb's up. “Okay. Stick around, we have to chat when I get back.” With that, she turned on her heel, hips swaying as she pushed her way through the throng.

Tom was disappointed by the utter lack of _Avengers_ that had been able to make it to the party--he was the sole cast member. Robert Downey, Jr. was off directing a movie in Spain; Chris Hemsworth was on vacation with his family; Evans and Ruffalo were off doing God knows what. Tom adjusted his silk tie and let his eyes wander about the crowded living room. He half-recognized nearly every mug from some Hollywood schmooze, but there wasn't anyone with which he was actually familiar. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, slightly uncomfortable.

Normally Tom would start up a conversation with whoever looked interesting, but he was tired and jet-lagged and just wanted to sit in a quiet corner for a little while. Spotting an escape in the form of the door to Scarlett’s terrace, he weaved through the gaggle of girls in front of him (who unashamedly checked out his bum as he passed them by) and hastily made his way outside.

Tom pulled the doors shut behind him and let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t consider himself to be a timid individual, but huge house parties weren’t exactly his cup of tea. He preferred spending his birthdays in a pub with a couple of pals. Tom silently wondered how Scarlett was going to top the 29th. Perhaps hosting a hot-air balloon ride with a hundred of her closest friends?

When Tom heard the soft clearing of a throat behind him, he jumped in surprise, banging his kneecap into the glass door. Sharp, hot pain bloomed in his knee and shot up his leg. He tentatively twisted around, his eyebrows raising when his gaze landed on a young woman staring curiously back at him.

She was pretty; she had these big, murky chlorine eyes and a soft, crimson mouth that clashed with her porcelain complexion. Her slender form spilled into a slinky cocktail dress, spindly, pale legs dangling from the balcony railing she was precariously balanced on.

“Sorry if I startled you,” she apologized, not sounding at all apologetic. In fact, the gentle lilt in her voice made her sound almost amused.

Tom leaned back against the door and gave the girl a good once-over, surveying the hard edges and sharp lines of her slight figure. "Oh, you didn’t startle me," he quickly insisted with charming smile. "I’m just a masochist who goes around looking for any excuse to hurt himself. The habit tends to confuse people." The girl was biting her lower lip, watching him thoughtfully.

"I guess that would make me the sadist, ‘cause it took everything in me not to laugh when you did that," the girl said. The corners of her lips had turned up in a lukewarm smile. Tom was suddenly overcome with the desire to conjure an all-out grin from her, one that would stop her eyes from looking so sullen.

“You must the friend Scarlett was going on about,” the woman figured. She paused for a beat, rocking back and forth on her ledge. “Unless she just happens to be friends with more than one handsome Englishman. Tom, right?”

Tom nodded, comforted (and mildly irritated) by the fact that the girl didn’t appear to recognize him. She thought he was handsome, though: that was a start. “That would be me,” he replied, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. His casual-yet-confident stance failed to phase the young lady. Not that he'd had been hoping. “So Scarlett has spoken of me? I hope only good things.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, eyebrow cocked challengingly. The charcoal strands of her short, unruly mop tickled her shoulders. “Are there bad things?” she asked.

“None that I’m willing to share,” he countered, smiling slyly. He took note that the girl wore no accessories, sporting only a few inconspicuous tattoos. Interesting.

A charged silence fell, neither of the two speaking for some time. Then the woman said with a smirk, "You're staring."

“Only because I’m worried you’re going to fall from that railing and injure yourself," Tom quickly improvised. The woman raised her eyebrows at him, staring back incredulously. "It’d be a real tragedy because I never would’ve gotten the name of such a beautiful woman.”

"Oh, that deserves some applause," the woman said in fake awe, clapping slowly and abandoning her perch on the railing. "That was quite the come-on."

"I thought so," Tom replied, shrugging humbly.

An amused smile slowly crept over the woman's face. "I guess now I _have_ to give you my name, don't I?"

"It would certainly seem that way."

"Cheeky bastard," the woman chuckled, shaking her head. She stuck out her hand for Tom to shake. "I'm Lee. Short for Elliott."

"Lovely to meet you, Elliott." Tom took her hand in his own, shocked by the cold of her spidery fingers. The brisk shake turned slow and languid, persisting way past the appropriate duration for a handshake. Tom moved in a little closer, shamelessly gazing into Lee's eyes.

"You're staring," Lee said again, her quiet voice wavering. A rosy flush was spreading across her alabaster shoulders.

Just then, the terrace doors burst open, spilling the sounds of Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” into the night. Elliott and Tom jumped apart in surprise. Scarlett's blonde head poked through the doors before she carefully stepped onto the deck in her stilettos.

"There you are, Tom," she said, sounding relieved. She shut the doors before handing Tom a glass of champagne. "I was starting to think my girlfriends had devoured you."

Lee snorted at this, and Scarlett's focus shifted to her. "I see you've met Lee," Scarlett said, shooting the woman a playfully stern look. "I hope you haven't been scaring my guest, Lee."

Elliott opened her mouth to protest, but Tom got there first. "She's been wonderful," he said to Scarlett. He turned toward Lee just in time to see her duck her head bashfully. "Would you happen to know what she's doing out here all alone?"

Tom couldn't figure it out. Elliott couldn't be an actress, she didn't have that air about her. Perhaps a model. Or a dancer. But no, she couldn't be, not with the way she was so content being alone at a party. Entertainers lived for attention, and this girl seemed to want none of it.

"She refuses to join the party until her boyfriend shows up," Scarlett explained, disdain dripping from her voice.

"You're the only person in there I know, Scarlett," Lee pointed out. "And I don't think he's going to make it anyway." She briefly glanced down at the unlit screen of her cell phone.

 _Boyfriend. Of course she has a boyfriend_ , Tom thought. _Although clearly not a good one._ Tom refused to be disappointed by this development. "So how do you two know each other?" he asked, changing the subject.

“This is what I wanted to tell you about,” Scarlett explained, placing a dainty hand on Tom’s forearm, “Elliott is an old friend of mine and she's visiting for a couple months. She's living in the guestroom next to yours.” Tom’s eyebrows rose in intrigue. Elliott mistook it as shock.

“I won’t even be there that often, so it shouldn’t be an issue,” she quickly injected, “If it's any trouble--”

“It’s completely fine,” Tom assured her. “I’ll only be here until I find a flat, anyway.” _Maybe by then the boyfriend would be out of the picture._

This response seemed to satisfy Scarlett, who exhaled as if she had been holding her breath. “It’s all set then,” she stated, hands clasped. Her face split into an excited grin and she exclaimed, “You guys are going to have so much fun living here together!”

Elliott rolled her stormy green eyes. “You sound like the president of a sorority.” Her tone was affectionate, like she was very used to Scarlett's lively disposition.

“I don't mind being a sorority sister,” Tom offered jokingly, "I do love a good slumber party." This elicited a scoff and a disappointingly tepid smile from Elliott. Tom wanted more; he was going to get his smile from her—a _real_ smile, with bright green eyes and pearly whites—if it was the last thing he did.


	2. The Other Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos! Hope you enjoy :)

Save for the few times that Scarlett had been forced to play host and ensure that her guests were _not_ burning down her house, she, Tom, and Elliott had remained out on the back porch for the entirety of the night.

Tom had quickly learned that Elliott was a fairly successful songwriter. He had also discovered that she and Scarlett had met a couple of years back, when they had both lived in New York. They had reunited in California when Elliott had been searching for an inexpensive place to stay in temporarily. The two had been living together for a few months.

Elliott had learned that Tom was a fairly successful actor who had met Scarlett during their work together on _The Avengers_. Elliott had immediately apologized for not having seen the epic blockbuster. “My movie collection consists of almost nothing but indie films and obscure ‘80s movies,” Elliott had joked, her voice inflected with something that might have been pride.

Tom had laughingly assured her that he wasn’t offended. Shortly after, Scarlett launched into a story regarding their antics at The Avengers wrap party. Tom gave his best attempt at listening to the amusing anecdote, but his attention kept drifting back to Elliott.

There was just something so attractive about the way she conducted herself. She moved with an almost cat-like grace and spoke in a soft, smoky voice that Tom wished to hear far more. Whenever she would smile, it wouldn’t quite reach her melancholic eyes and she would swiftly return to looking sullen.

All of a sudden, Tom felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He tried to suppress a tired yawn and failed miserably, prompting Scarlett to pause in the midst of her regaling. “Oh, Tom, you must be completely drained, you poor thing.” Scarlett squeezed his shoulder affectionately. Tom’s hollowed cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

“I suppose I might be a bit tired,” he allowed, rubbing the back of his neck. Right then, Scarlett made the decision to bring her party to a close. Many hugs from various friends were shared and several gift bags were distributed before Scarlett finally got everyone through the front door and out of her house. Elliott and Tom stood in the middle of the living room, appalled by the amount of trash cluttering the space.

Tom wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Scarlett, I really wouldn’t mind helping you clean up before I go to bed.” Tom bent over to retrieve a crumpled, red SOLO cup lying near his feet.

Scarlett snatched the cup from Tom and placed it on her marble countertop. “No way. Go to sleep,” she ordered in a stern voice, pointing towards the stairs that led down to the basement. “We can clean up tomorrow, when you don’t look like you’re about to keel over. You too, Lee.”

Scarlett put her hands on her hips like she meant business. She could be scary when she wanted to be. Neither Tom nor Lee dared to argued with her demands. They both padded down the staircase, Lee’s footsteps light behind Tom’s heavy ones.

Tom flicked the switch at the bottom of the stairs, flooding the room with fluorescent light. Scarlett’s basement wasn’t much different than the upper level. Same carpeting, same wallpaper, different part of the house. Tom appreciated the simplicity of it. Elliott tapped Tom on the shoulder, pulling his attention away from the decor.

“Your room is down the hall.” Elliott deftly slipped out of her heels and led Tom into the dimly-lit hallway. The tattoo etched between Elliott’s jutting shoulder blades became visible to Tom, her back turned to him. It was a short sentence written in a loopy cursive type: _The only truth is music_. Tom smiled. A pretty girl who was also a fan of Jack Kerouac. Lee became more intriguing by the minute.

Elliott stopped abruptly when she reached the end of the hall and Tom nearly walked right into her. When she turned around to face him, he was so close to her, she could see the gold flecks that speckled Tom’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Right through there,” Elliott said absently, hand gesturing to a closed door. The light fixture hanging over Tom’s head illuminated his features like a halo. Elliott found herself studying him with interest.

Elliott noticed for the first time that Tom was not much taller than her, only had an inch on her or so. She also noticed that he smelled rather nice. A clean, masculine scent that complimented Tom’s personality well. It was subtle and intoxicating at the same time.

Elliott suddenly felt unbearably hot. Her skin crawled and her mind blanked. She inched away from Tom and grasped her doorknob with a clammy palm. “Uh, m-my room is across from yours if you need me,” Elliott stammered, her cheeks pinkening. The words hadn’t sounded quite as suggestive in her head.

“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” Tom smirked like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on her.

“Seems that way.”

Tom nodded slowly, his smile growing. “Good night, Elliott.” Tom opened his door and disappeared into his new bedroom.

“Good night,” Elliott replied faintly, feeling dazed and confused.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of Tom’s luggage arrived early the next morning. Scarlett and Elliott perched on the loveseat in the basement; they watched Tom come up and down the stairs an endless amount of times, a different box in his arms each run. Tom had protested when either of the girls had offered to help, just like Scarlett had expected him to.

Scarlett nudged Elliott in the ribs playfully. “So what do you think of him? He’s handsome, right?”

“I’m not saying that I don’t think he’s attractive…,” Elliott began. She was immediately interrupted by an obnoxious groan from Scarlett. Elliott couldn’t say that she hadn’t expected it.

She just remained silent. She agreed with Scarlett: Tom was a handsome man. His chiseled features and lean physique were enough to make any woman swoon, but then he also had to be the most polite man in existence. His manners were beyond impressive and the rich, velvety tone of his voice was dreamy, to say the least. This didn’t mean Elliott was simply going to throw herself at him. She wasn’t counting on a repeat of her slip-up from the night before. Judging by the amount of women that had been undressing him with their eyes the night before, Tom got enough ass as it was.

Elliott figured that she was still allowed to check him out once in awhile. God hadn’t given him those looks to let them be ignored.

“Why are you always so picky when it comes to men? He’s perfect!” Scarlett squawked impatiently. Elliott’s eyes rolled up to the spackled ceiling. Scarlett sounded like the nagging mother in _Pride and Prejudice_ , except less English and way more bitchy.

“Then why don’t you date him?”

Scarlett scowled at Elliott, her bow-shaped lips pursing. “I’ve been seeing Romain for months now. You know that.” Elliott did know that. Romain was a lovely guy that made Scarlett laugh more than anyone she knew.

Elliott just shrugged. “And I’m dating Kyle.” Even as she said it, Elliott knew it was a weak argument. Kyle was a guy she had met at a concert she had attended with Scarlett. He was nothing more than an attractive distraction and Elliott was certain that Kyle felt the same about her.

Scarlett groaned again, and somehow, it was even louder than the last one. Elliott got a sick satisfaction from seeing her friend so frustrated over her. She bit down on her tongue to keep from grinning. “You and Kyle aren’t even serious,” Scarlett pointed out, “And let’s be honest”---she paused, lowering her voice---“He’s got _nothing_ on Tom.”

Elliott started to argue, but her statement died on her lips as Tom came barreling down the stairs, hefting a heavy-looking box in his arms like it was nothing. He was in a red threadbare t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. The fabric clung tightly to his stomach, outlining the firm ripples of muscle. His athletic shorts framed his calves nicely. Not that Elliott had been looking.

“This is the last box,” Tom informed Scarlett, who proceeded to hoist herself off of the couch. “The moving truck will be gone in a matter of minutes.”

“Great, because I need to back my car out of the garage soon.” Scarlett warily checked the time on her phone. “If the roads are clear, I might just be on time.” Scarlett was headed to a cover shoot for a popular magazine. Elliott imagined that it was for her being named Sexiest Woman of the Century. Again.

Scarlett gave Elliott a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying off, declaring something about changing out of her pajamas and into her “big girl” clothes. Elliott silently willed her friend to stay in the room, but she was up the stairs and gone in a matter of seconds. She and Tom were alone.

It wasn’t that Elliott didn’t like Tom. She just didn’t know him. And the way he always acted so nice made her a little uncomfortable. Tom seemed like the kind of man who got what he wanted most of the time; Elliott didn't want to be another example of that.

Tom flashed a disarming smile. Elliott didn’t note that he hadn’t shaved yet and she definitely didn’t note that Tom looked even sexier with a jaw covered in ginger stubble.

“What are you doing this fine day?” he asked, wrenching Elliott out of her thoughts.

“Working. You probably won’t see me for the rest of the day..” Elliott shifted in her seat, shoving her hands into the pockets of her varsity jacket. The oversized thing swallowed her thin frame, her denim cutoffs just barely poking out from underneath. “I also plan on giving The Avengers a try,” Elliott added with a half-smile. “Scarlett tells me that your character is quite the colossal asshole.”

Tom laughed good-naturedly; he had the feeling that Elliott had paraphrased Scarlett’s actual statement. “I can’t and won’t argue with that,” he responded. “I can assure you that I am nothing like him in reality.”

“Too bad, because colossal assholes are my favorite kind of guys.” Tom chuckled, and he watched Elliott’s kohl-rimmed eyes light up for a second before being restored to their natural state. “Do you know where I could find a copy of the movie? I forgot to ask Scarlett.”

“I might have one packed into a box somewhere,” Tom suggested helpfully. “I’ll look around later, if you like.” Tom set down his carton and stretched his faintly muscled arms over his head. A strip of pale skin peeked out as the hem of his shirt separated from the waistband of his shorts. Elliott quickly averted her eyes.

She turned her gaze to her feet, dragging her knees up to her chest to fiddle with the laces of her Chuck Taylors. “So what are you up to today?” Elliott asked, making eye contact with Tom only after he lowered his arms. “What does a movie star do to entertain himself?"

“I wouldn’t call myself a movie star.”

Elliott resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Scarlett had mentioned something about him being humble…

“To answer your question,” Tom continued, “I’m going to meet with a director for a callback in an hour or so. Nothing terribly exciting."

Elliott made a vague noise. "I wish you good luck." She unfolded herself and scrambled to her feet, shooting a quick glance at the Cheshire Cat clock hanging on the wall. "I should get going."

“Oh!” Tom exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Scarlett and I are going out to the bar on L Street this evening.” Tom smiled. “You should join us.”

Elliott’s initial instinct was to object, but the look on Tom’s face led her to hesitate. The eagerness in his striking features made her fingers tingle. Elliott clenched her fists to stop the sensation. “Maybe I will,” she found herself saying.

“I certainly hope so.” Tom winked. He disappeared down the hall, box in arms.

 

* * *

 

 

When Elliott returned to the house after work, it was almost been half-past ten. She tiptoed through the front door and into the basement, stripping away her jacket and sneakers. She froze when she heard hushed whispers coming from the living room. Elliott frowned in confusion; Scarlett and Tom were still supposed to be out drinking. Had they decided to retire early?

Elliott bounded up the stairs, expecting to find Scarlett and her attractive English friend chatting it up on the futon. She was startled to find Tom and a busty, auburn-haired girl giggling over an expensive-looking bottle of Pinot Noir. Tom glanced up at Elliott with glassy eyes.

“Elliott!” Tom exclaimed happily. “I missed you at the bar today!” His flushed cheeks and the nearly-undetectable slurring of his words might have been cute if there hadn’t been a random redhead trying to drape herself over him. “Why didn’t you come?”

Elliott didn’t really have a specific answer to his question. What was she supposed to say? That being alone with her own thoughts had posed a more tempting offer than making pointless small talk with people she barely knew? Or that she wanted to avoid the tingly feeling that she had felt when Tom had smiled at her?

“Um, I was really busy today,” Elliott lied, fussing with a strand of hair. “Where is Scarlett?”

Tom frowned and squeezed his eyes shut like he couldn’t remember who Scarlett was. “You just missed her. Romain picked her up for a date,” Tom explained. He smiled dazedly. “He dropped off some wine. You should have some.” He grabbed at the half-empty bottle of red wine standing on the end table.

“I’m fine, really,” Elliott assured him, holding her palm up. She must have started staring at the nameless redhead in the micro-mini at one point because Tom finally decided to introduce her.

“Oh!” Tom called out, as if just remembering that there was a woman beside him. “This is Maja. I met her at the callback.”

Maja lifted her fingers in a flirty wave. “When he found out that we might be doing a movie together, he invited me to the bar.” Maja rubbed Tom’s thigh affectionately. “He’s such a sweetheart,” she gushed drunkenly.

Maja tossed her glossy locks over her shoulder and leaned closer to Tom, giving him an eyeful of her ample cleavage. She was luring him in with her assets, waiting to sink her lacquered claws into him. Tom was unwittingly falling for it all.

Elliott felt prickles of annoyance poking at her scalp. She was in no place to be irritated with Tom, but, for some reason, she was. Deep down, she had hoped that he was different, that he was genuinely as incredible as Scarlett had made him out to be. It was disappointing to find out that Tom was just like every other man: more likely to choose a giggly, vapid slut over a girl with some substance.

“Good night,” Elliott muttered, padding out of the living room. She was fairly sure that neither Tom nor Maja had even noticed that she had left.

It wasn’t until after Elliott had changed into her pajamas and tucked herself into bed that she realized something: she was jealous.


	3. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter, so it'll be quite short. My apologies :)

Tom exhaled deeply, perfecting his downward-facing dog on the carpet in Scarlett’s upstairs living room. He had just finished an hour-long yoga session and was now he feeling quite loose, like a knot that had come undone. He lazily extracted himself from his last pose, stretching until he heard the audible protest of his spine.

Tom raised his head as a shadow appeared before him. His lips fell ajar ever-so-slightly, his gaze falling on a bedraggled Elliott. Tom stared openly.

Her delicate, heart-shaped face was creased with marks from her pillow cover. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses were perched crookedly on the bridge of her nose. The loose collar of her red-checked flannel had fallen away from her shoulder, exposing a protruding clavicle.

Half of Elliott’s disheveled locks were pressed to her skull and the rest were sticking up haphazardly. Tom found the look strangely attractive. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased, hands on hips.

Elliott let out a disbelieving scoff. “It’s eight in the morning,” she pointed out, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Most people consider this to be pretty early.” She eyed the rubber-trimmed yoga mat lying at Tom’s feet. “I didn't know you did yoga.”

“It’s immensely relaxing,” Tom enthused. “You should try it with me sometime.” He shrugged nonchalantly, hoping the eagerness he was feeling was not apparent.

Elliott grimaced. “Not my thing,” she confessed, “I’m more of a runner.”

Tom’s eyes lit up upon hearing those words. He could see Elliott as a runner. She had long, lithe legs that had to have come from years and years of track and field in high school.

“I’m a runner as well," he exclaimed. “You should join me tomorrow; I’d love to have some company during my morning jog.” Tom smiled his most charismatic smile, hoping it would coerce Elliott into joining him.

“If you promise not to smile like that ever again, I’ll come.” One of the corners of Elliott’s mouth had turned up, forming a soft curve in her lips. Another almost-grin.

“I solemnly swear,” Tom promised. He held three slender fingers up in scout’s honor.

Elliott just shook her head, smirking. “So how long have you been up?”

“I’ve been up since five.” Tom absently stroked his clean-shaven chin. “I went for a five-mile jog, made breakfast for Scarlett before she went out, took a quick shower, and then I decided to do some yoga.” 

Tom decided not to mention how he had woken up with a killer hangover. Scarlett had left a couple of Advil and a glass of water on his nightstand after finding a near-empty bottle of pinot noir lying on her living room carpet the night before. Tom had painstakingly cooked her a delicious breakfast (consisting of chocolate-chip buttermilk pancakes and strawberry-soaked crepes) in apology. She forgave him without hesitation.

Elliott coyly arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.” Her vintage horn-rims were teetering precariously on the tip of her nose. Tom felt an overwhelming urge to adjust them. He quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Nice glasses,” Tom commented casually.

Elliott’s fingers flew to the hinges of her spectacles. “Yeah, I ran out of contacts, so I’m stuck with these,” she sighed. She removed the glasses from her face and eyed them with disdain.

“They make you look smart,” Tom offered, combing his fingers through his slightly-damp curls.

Elliott cocked her head to the side. “Do I normally look dumb?” She looked far more amused than offended.

“Sorry,” Tom laughed heartily, “I suppose it’s more an English saying. I meant to say that you look nice.” Elliott blinked at Tom for a moment before ducking her head, her dark hair falling over her face. Tom didn’t miss the faint pink that bloomed in her cheeks.

“I’m gonna go have breakfast,” Scarlett mumbled quietly, getting the hell out of dodge. Tom chuckled softly, retrieving his yoga mat from the carpet and rolling it into a neon-colored tube. He inhaled, the strong aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting into living room. Tom heard Elliott utter something just as the toaster popped up.

Tom paused his yoga music playlist. “Pardon?” he called out.

“Did you get lucky last night? With the Swedish ginger?”

Tom froze, the easy smile on his face crumpling. He had been hoping Elliott would neglect to ask him about that. Just when he had managed to get the night before out of his head, it had been brought back again. His recollection of the evening prior was fuzzy around the edges from the excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed. He could, however, remember being aggressively hit on by a certain redhead.

At one point, Tom was certain Maja had tried to force herself on him. Before the situation had become too inappropriate, Tom had sent Maja home in a cab. When he had called her earlier that morning, he had been sent straight to voice-mail.

Tom’s grip on his yoga mat tightened, his knuckles turning white. He let go, and the thing fell to the ground with a dull thud as he briskly marched into the kitchen.

“Why do you think I would’ve slept with Maja?” Tom blurted out, sounding far more impatient than he would’ve liked. “I sent her home after you went to bed.”

Elliott turned away from her burnt piece of toast and glanced innocently at Tom. “She was all over you and you didn’t seem to mind,” she replied coolly, “I figured it was a fair assumption.”

Tom’s scrutinizing blue eyes searched her own. It took everything in Elliott not to be the first to avert her gaze.

Tom felt his face grow hot with anger and embarrassment. Already, he had given off the impression that he was some womanizing Lothario, and for some reason, Tom was really concerned with what Elliott thought of him. 

“I am nothing if not professional,” Tom stated in a sharp tone. He mustered up the conviction he was lacking and admitted, “ I got absolutely pissed yesterday and had a moment of weakness, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to behave myself. I’d never sleep with someone I work with, let alone someone I just met.”

Elliott didn’t respond, silently returning to her charred toast. This proved to irritate Tom even further, forcing him to add, “Even if I had slept with Maja, which I never would have, it would be no business of your own. That kind of thing is private.”

Elliott whirled around, finding that Tom had edged a bit closer to her. Despite having been on a jog not long before, he smelled clean, like Woolite or Ivory soap. It was dizzying.

Determined not to lose her composure, she raised an eyebrow challengingly and retorted, “I didn't realize it was such a sensitive topic.”

Tom sneered, arms crossed. “How would you like it if I pried about your personal life?”

“Go right ahead. Ask me anything you like,” Elliott replied. She visibly braced herself, anticipating the worst.

Tom made a thoughtful noise, softly musing. Elliott began to squirm, and he asked, “Why didn’t you come to the bar yesterday?”

Elliott faltered for a second before quickly regaining her composure. “I don’t drink,” she then declared, sounding sure of herself. Tom narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn’t reveal anything else. When Tom finally decided that he couldn’t tell if she was being truthful or not, he asked another question.

“How serious are you and Kyle?”

Tom watched the blood drain from Elliott’s already-pale features. “Scarlett told you about him, didn't she? When?” she demanded agitatedly. Tom bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling; Elliott looked quite sexy when she was angry.

“At the bar. She’d had quite a few drinks in her system, though, so you can’t blame her. Now how serious are you two?"

Elliott gave a resigned sigh. “Kyle and I aren't anything,” she said, her words sounding tired. Tom’s expression softened, and Elliott volleyed a scowl back at him.

“Are you done?” she asked exasperatedly.

“No.” Tom couldn’t stop his final inquiry from slipping out from under his tongue. “Why do you care so much whether I slept with someone or not? I mean, why should my sexual activity be of any interest to you?”

Elliott didn’t have the chance to come up with a clever retort. Tom gasped, a shocking revelation suddenly overcoming him. “You’re jealous,” he said in hushed voice, not meaning to say it out aloud. He mentally punched himself. In the bollocks. Over and over again.

Elliott’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls and her jaw went slack, her lovely crimson mouth falling open. For a moment, she wavered, and her eyes flashed with something that disappeared much too quickly for Tom to determine what it might have been.

“You, Mister Hiddleston, must have quite the ego,” she began in a frighteningly calm voice, “to think I would ever be even remotely attracted to a conceited, narcissistic ass like you.” She then pursed her lips, grabbed her plate of half-eaten toast, and stepped around Tom to storm out of the kitchen.

Tom didn’t react until he heard a door slam in the distance. He collapsed against the counter and pressed the heel of his hand hard against his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate your feedback if you have any :) BTW, the story is not mapped out, so if you have any ideas, I'd be down to hear them.


	4. The Show

It was seven in the morning. The California sun had risen, highlighting the tops of the sequoia trees with its radiant gleam. The crystalline-blue sky was dotted with cottony clumps of clouds. Tom was bent down by the entrance of his jogging path, double-knotting the laces of his Adidas tennis shoes.

Tom marveled at the serene atmosphere of the Aurora gated community. Its residents were protected from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and press hounds that would have been permitted anywhere else. Tom was aware that he was not exactly a prominent figure in Hollywood, but if he ever obtained the status that Scarlett held, he would certainly consider settling in Aurora.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back to take a swig from his water bottle. Somebody whizzed past him, gravel crunching beneath a pair of sneakers. He opened his eyes to see a nimble Elliott a few paces ahead of him, bouncing on the soles of her feet.

Her dark hair was secured in a hastily-tied bun. A few strands had escaped from the jumble of pins, now hanging in front of her flushed face. An old pair of track shorts were slung low on her hips and the strap of a loose tank top was threatening to slip down her arm. An aluminum water bottle was clasped tightly in her right hand.

Tom blinked, puzzled by her presence. This was the first he had seen of her since the morning before. After their heated conversation, Elliott had vanished without a trace. Not that Tom had been at home: he and Scarlett had scoured Los Angeles to find him a nice apartment. After an afternoon of no success, they gave up and went out to a dinner that had turned into a night on the town.

When they had finally made it back home, Elliott was still nowhere to be found. “It’s no big deal. She’s always doing that,” Scarlett had assured. She would disappear to some unspecified location for hours on end and provide a vague description of her whereabouts if she was questioned about it. Tom and Scarlett had been fast asleep by the time she had creeped back into the house.

Elliott snapped her fingers, wrenching Tom from his thoughts. “You coming?” she asked, her eyes narrowing into glittering green slits.

Tom, struck by her evident impatience, nodded and sped up his pace. The two quickly fell into step with each other, their footsteps sounding in sync. They didn’t speak.

The silent tension between them was almost palpable to Tom. He couldn't determine whether Elliott was angry at him or not; the neutral expression she wore gave absolutely nothing away. She would keep her eyes trained forward whenever he shot a sidelong glance her way. In such close proximity, Tom could see dark circles beneath her wispy lashes.

"So how's Maja?" she asked all of a sudden. The nonchalance in her voice sounded forced.

Tom bit his lip. Maja had called around eleven P.M. the night before, right after he had finally managed to drift off. In a groggy stupor, he had listened to Maja apologize profusely for the inappropriate behavior she had displayed when she had been over at the house.

Desperate for sleep, Tom had immediately forgiven her. Still, he subconsciously hoped that she wouldn’t get a part in the film they had auditioned for so wouldn’t have to see her again. He had no legitimate reason to feel ashamed, but that didn’t stop him from blushing everytime he recalled their drunken escapades.

"She's fine," Tom muttered apathetically.

“That’s good.”

Awkward pause.

Tom took a deep breath.

“Look" -- Tom took the fleeting glance he received from Elliott as his cue to continue -- "I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. What I said to you was unacceptable. I’m very sorry.”

Another excruciating pause followed his words. The silence was near deafening.

Just when Tom had accepted the fact that he was probably never going to get an answer, Elliott softly sighed out:

“You were right.”

Tom’s stomach clenched and he felt a forceful tug in his chest. He hoped the surprise he felt didn’t show. “What do you mean?” he asked, cringing at the obvious urgency in his words. He had the feeling that he already knew the answer to his own question.

A frustrated huff left Elliott’s mouth. In a meek voice, she said, “I think maybe I was jealous.” And that was all Tom needed to hear.

Despite his efforts, Tom failed to stop a victorious grin from spreading across his face. Elliott stared ahead pointedly, refusing to meet his insistent gaze.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the run.

* * *

 

Kyle, Elliott's boyfriend (?), was an enigma to Tom, almost more so than Elliott was. The man was only ever mentioned briefly in conversation. He never made any appearances at the house, nor did he ever call on the phone. Tom had begun to think -- and, deep down, maybe even hope -- that Kyle didn't actually exist. He soon found that he was sadly mistaken.

“Kyle just opened a new club.” Out of the blue, Elliott had mentioned this one day, interrupting a discussion Scarlett and Tom were sharing. “He’d love it we could all go visit.”

Tom’s heart had sunk deep into his stomach. There had been something of an attraction growing between he and Elliott since she admitted to having feeling for him. Recently, all of their encounters had been filled with lingering glances, “accidental” brushes, and timid smiles. For fear of doing something that might get him trouble, Tom had been training himself not to act on impulse.

Tom tried his hardest to keep these impulses under control as he, Scarlett, and Elliott stood outside of Catalyst, Kyle’s new nightclub. It was nearly midnight and they still hadn't seen anything but the outside of the brick-lined building. The burly bouncer at the end of the queue was sending people away by the cluster.

"I hate to complain, but my feet are killing me and we haven't even started dancing yet," Scarlett whined, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"He should be out soon," Elliott reassured her. Tom noticed the way she nervously fiddled with the belt of her trench coat and fought the urge to rub the small of her back comfortingly.

Just then, a man in a worn Ramones t-shirt and a hand-knit grey beanie stepped out of the club. He was sporting an impressive beard and a mop of long, dark curls. His appearance vaguely reminded Tom of Jesus --- if Jesus was a fan of punk rock and had a shitload of tattoos decorated his body. The man scanned the line before locking eyes with Elliott. His face split into a wide smile.

"Hey, babe," he exclaimed, pulling Elliott in for a brief kiss. She smiled softly as he snaked an arm around her narrow hips. "Sorry I didn't get here sooner. I’m short-staffed, so I’ve been tending bar," he apologized, "Have you guys been out here long?"

Tom forced himself to be civil. "Not at all," he fibbed, shaking his head. He thrust a hand forward. "I'm Tom."

The guy took Tom's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you," he replied cheerfully, "I'm Kyle." He acknowledged Scarlett with a smirk, giving her a peck on the cheek.

Kyle approached the bouncer and quickly whispered something into his ear. The enormous man nodded, unclipping the velvet rope and allowing them to step inside. The club-hoppers in line behind them groaned as the bouncer barred the entrance right before they could make it in.

The space was pretty small, but it had a friendly, intimate atmosphere; B-list celebrities and other disarmingly attractive people were shimmying on the dancefloor and chatting over drinks. A band up front was starting a new set, their cheeks red from jumping around. The fog machine on stage emitted a smoky haze that swirled around their feet.

Scarlett, Tom, and Elliott followed Kyle to the bar. "So what can I get you?" he asked, elbows on the counter.

Soon after, everyone had drinks in their hands, feeling relaxed and warm. Tom and Elliott sat beside each other on their barstools, thighs nearly touching. Elliott could feel Tom's heat emanating off of him. The sensation sent shivers down her spine.

Tom sipped on his Jack and Coke, inconspicuously studying Kyle. He had never felt so inferior to any one person before; second place was not a position he was very familiar with. He didn’t like it. Tom suddenly wished that Elliott had seen something he’d been in, anything to make him more impressive to her.

"Elliott! Scarlett!" A voice called out behind them. Tom turned to see a petite, pixie-like girl with hot pink curls and several facial piercings. She smiled brightly, bouncing on her Doc-Martens-clad heels. The seemingly boundless energy she possessed was exhausting.

Elliott set down her ginger ale, eyebrows spiking. "Mabel...Hi!" she stammered, clearly surprised. Scarlett jumped from her barstool and gave the girl a tiny embrace. Tom gave Scarlett a questioning look.

"Tom, this is Mabel Monroe," Scarlett explained, hand on her shoulder. "She’s the one who introduced me to Elliott, back in New York." Mabel wrapped Tom in an overenthusiastic hug. His arms went limp at his sides, caught off-guard.

"What are you doing here?" Elliott finally asked. The corners of her mouth had turned up in delight.

Kyle cleared his throat from behind the bar. "She's the bassist of the in-house band," he interjected, juggling a martini shaker in his hands. "She's fantastic." Mabel gave a dismissive wave, shaking her head humbly.

She began to enthrall everyone with the story of how she and Elliott had been in a band that played all over New York, and how she had invited Scarlett to come to one of their shows. Scarlett chattered along happily, expressing how their set had been "an experience.”

"You're a musician?" Tom shifted his attention to Elliott, stunned. This was all news to him. Elliott opened her mouth to give a reply, but Mabel beat her to the punch.

"Omigod, she's incredible," Mabel enthused, "She plays, like, every instrument in existence and her voice is heavenly. She's a total badass."

By this point, Elliott's entire body was flushing with heat. She bashfully stared into her lap as Kyle laughed, squeezing her shoulder. Elliott looked as if she wanted to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West and drain into a sewer grate. Tom stared at her with a newfound fascination.

Mabel suddenly began flapping her hands excitedly. "Omigod, you should totally come perform with us!"

Elliott paled, horrified by the very suggestion. She protested profusely, spouting weak excuses left and right. "Nobody wants to hear me sing," she babbled nervously. The looks on the faces around her seemed to suggest otherwise.

Mabel scoffed and wrenched Elliott away from the bar. "Don't be silly. It’ll be fun, you’ll see," she insisted. Next thing Elliott knew, she was up on stage in front of an expectant (and slightly drunk) crowd. Mabel pulled the band members into a tiny huddle for a hasty assembly.

Tom downed the last few dregs of his drink, watching Elliott through his glass. She was stripping away her jacket and replacing it with the electric guitar Mabel handed her. She curiously ran her fingers along the frets of the instrument, like it had been a while since she had last played.

"How come you didn't tell me that she’s a musician?" Tom demanded, nudging Scarlett gently. He felt so in the dark when it came to Elliott; the fact that he knew so little about her frustrated him to no end.

Scarlett simply shrugged. "I haven't seen her on stage since New York," she confessed, swishing her cocktail around in its glass.

Kyle nodded in agreement. “If she’s been playing, I wouldn’t know.” Tom’s eyes followed Elliott as she freed her hair from its binding, allowing the inky locks to puddle around her slender neck. He looked away only when he realized that Kyle was peering at him searchingly. He glanced at his empty glass, flushing crimson.

The dissonant plinking of piano keys sounded in the front, coaxing all attention to the stage. Mabel tapped lightly on her microphone and smiled, lighting up the room. “How is everyone tonight?”

The crowd whooped and cheered in response, and Mabel took this as encouragement. “I’d like to introduce an old friend of mine,” she continued, sauntering across the stage to throw an arm around Elliott’s neck. “This is Elliott Lowell, but you guys can call her Lee.” More shouts came from the crowd, probably fueled by tequila and jelly shots.

“She’s about to rock the house with us, so you might want to hold on to your hats,” Mabel declared confidently. Elliott rolled her eyes affectionately, staring down at her feet.

Tom gnawed on a piece of ice, eager and a little impatient. The Elliott he knew (or didn’t know) was very guarded; her MO was frosty detachment. In such a vulnerable position --- under the harsh glare of spotlight --- her soul would truly be exposed. Tom couldn’t decide whether to be excited or anxious.

“Uh, I wrote this song when me and Mabel were still playing together,” Elliott said, gripping the cold, steely stem of her microphone with a clammy palm. “It’s called Black Sheep.” The performers stepped into their places, waiting for their cue.

The drummer smacked his sticks together and launched into the song, thrashing around wildly. Elliott’s fingertips deftly moved along the neck of her instrument, sending loud, distorted sounds all the way to the back of the room. The song switched between intervals of short, aggressive bass thumps and roaring blasts of guitar. Elliott opened her mouth to sing the first verse, her mouth just barely pressed to the mic:

_“Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when_

_Our common goal was waiting for. The World. TO END!”_

_Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend_

_You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick. The Past. AGAIN!”_

The soft, adamant purr of Elliott’s voice nearly made Tom’s heart stop. It was innocent and sexy at the same time, like she was whispering directly into his ear. He could practically feel her soft lips on the tender skin…

Elliott had put the spectators under her spell. They were captivated by the swing of her narrow hips and the way she bobbed her head from side to side, lost in the beat of the music. Everyone was singing along by the time the chorus came around again:

_“I’ll send you my love on a wire, lift you up every time_

_Everyone, oooh, pulls away, oooh, FROM YOU!”_

Elliott’s muddy green eyes flicked to Tom’s crystal blues, boring into him. She looked like she had completely forgotten that there was anyone else in the room besides she and him. And then she did something he never would have expected: she smiled.

It wasn’t one of those disappointing, lukewarm smirks that Elliott seemed to have trademarked. It was a real smile: her eyes turned emerald, a hidden pair of dimples showed, her nose scrunched. It was simple and pure and it made Tom want to rush up on stage and snog her.

“What do you think?” Tom’s head snapped away from the stage and he refocused his attention on Kyle. The man stared at him with a vague expression on his face, eyes narrowed. Was he suspicious? He had good reason to be. Tom had been gawking at his girlfriend throughout the entire performance.

“Of Elliott?” Tom asked dumbly. He silently berated himself for how guilty he sounded.

“Yes, of Elliott,” Kyle chuckled, crossing his over-tattooed arms. “She’s good, right?” The song was coming to an end, the last few chords fading out into the night. The crush of people at the edge of the stage were already applauding wildly. Elliott was strangling her guitar with a death grip, incredulous of her own skill. The afterglow of a fantastic performance looked good on her; it brought out the color in her cheeks and made her stand a bit taller. She was beautiful.

“She’s brilliant,” Tom found himself saying, breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credit: Black Sheep - Metric. If you haven't heard this tune, I highly suggest you check it out :)


	5. The Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. This chapter technically isn't even complete, but I figured something was better than nothing. Please stay tuned :)

Elliott had the tendency to wander about the house at odd hours of the night. Her insomnia had been getting a lot worse, flaring up once or twice a month and lasting for weeks at a time. Copious amounts of coffee and energy drink kept her from keeling over in exhaustion.

Eventually, Tom found out. After a fair amount of pestering from him, Elliott reluctantly confessed to her regular string of sleepless nights. Then the nightly rendezvous began. Tom would wake himself up during the wee morning hours and prepare some tea for the two of them. He’d put a kettle on the stove, and then they would sit across from each other at the breakfast table and sip Earl Grey. Elliott would never admit it, but the company was nice.

Most of the time, the two of them would drink their tea in silence, but once in a while, Tom would want to chat. Making conversation wasn’t one of Elliott’s strong suits, but Tom brought something out in her. Sometimes, she would find herself struggling _not_ to divulge her secrets.

Tom now knew that Elliott was an only child, and that her mother had passed away when she was a teenager. She never lived in the same place for very long because her mom and dad loved to travel. Elliott learned that Tom’s parents had divorced when he was fourteen. His sisters had been the ones to help him survive the ordeal.

“You were raised by tween-age girls?” Elliott had laughed. “No wonder you’re so sensitive!”

“Being forced to play ‘dress-up’ and ‘tea-party’ for much of your young life will do that to you,” Tom had pointed out, smirking.

Tonight was quiet. Tom had spent his entire day at a callback audition for an upcoming Tarantino film and was absolutely spent, but he refused to go to bed when Elliott insisted. Instead, he’d marched straight into the kitchen and gone rifling through the cupboards for a teapot.

“Here you are.” Elliott collected her mug from Tom’s hands, careful not to spill. His elegant fingers unintentionally brushed her own and a wave of prickling goosebumps rushed up her arms. _Blame it on the tea_ , she told herself. The possibility that Tom might’ve had such an effect on her was alarming.

Tom settled into his chair and smiled sleepily at Elliott from over the porcelain rim of his teacup. Her face and neck immediately went hot under his gaze. She peered down at her chipped mug, busying herself with the tea bag. She refused to look back up until she was certain Tom had shifted his focus to something else.

Her growing attraction for Tom was becoming inconvenient. He had this ability to make her flustered whenever she was in his presence. She thought more about him than she did her own boyfriend. Kyle was a sweet guy, but Tom...

Tom was passionate about Shakespeare. He was a huge fan of John Hughes’ movies. He loved the White Stripes. He was intelligent, he oozed charisma, and he possessed the manners of a gentleman---with a naughty side. Scarlett had been right all along: he was practically _perfect_. If he had any faults, he was keeping them well-concealed. But his perfection wasn’t even the worst thing. It was the way Elliott felt when she was simply in his presence. That annoying, fluttery sensation deep in her gut. The clamminess of her palms. The very perceptible increase in her heart rate. Tom knew exactly what he was doing to her, and it was infuriating.

Elliott glanced up to see Tom with his head tilted back and his eyes fluttering closed. He had just fallen asleep, his chest steadily rising up and down. He looked very young in his worn pajamas and his boyish mop of curls. The sight shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was.

Faint shadows were tugging at his sharp cheekbones and his pretty pink lips. The long line of his throat was exposed, the unmarked skin just asking to be kissed. And sucked. And scraped.

Elliott’s mouth had gone dry. She snatched her mug from the tabletop, taking a generous gulp. The boiling liquid scalded the roof of her mouth and probably killed all of her taste buds. On the bright side, her attention wasn’t on Tom anymore. It wasn’t on his spun-gold lashes or his broad shoulders or his strong, well-proportioned hands--

Elliott quickly took another sip of tea, burning her tongue for a second time. Yeah, she seriously needed help.

 

* * *

 

“So what do you think?”

Tom led Scarlett into his new flat, toeing off his shoes and leaving them next to his Welcome mat. He watched her flit around the living room like an excited toddler before she paused at the gigantic wall-to-wall window. She made an impressed noise, nodding appreciatively.

“It’s absolutely gorgeous, Tom.” She pressed her nose to the glass, taking in the breathtaking California sunset. The sky was a beautiful swirl of pink, purple, and orange brush strokes. Scarlett turned away from the masterpiece and faced Tom, looking concerned. “But you know I would’ve let you stay with me as long as you wanted, right?”

Tom knew she would have, which was exactly why he’d needed to leave. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her hospitality. “Scarlett, you’ve been very generous,” he assured her. “It’s just time I had a place to myself, that’s all.”

“I know, I know,” Scarlett sighed. “I’m just gonna miss you, that’s all.” Tom pulled her into a heartfelt embrace. “The apartment’s really great.”

Tom had called and arranged to view the place without Scarlett’s knowledge. He hadn’t expected to find what he was looking for, but what he found was actually pretty nice. Perfect, even. His decision to sign the one-year lease had been impulsive, but he believed it would pay off in the long run.

The apartment was sleek and modern, all white walls and smooth surfaces. There was an Olympic-sized pool right in the backyard. The spacious, one-bedroom apartment wasn’t exactly cozy; it screamed ‘bachelor pad’ and Tom knew it. Maybe that was what he wanted. He wasn’t looking to settle down anytime soon.

“I’m gonna miss our weekend brunches,” Scarlett sulked, cheek pressed to Tom’s chest. Tom chuckled and shook his head. He’d never been a fan of brunch before a month ago -- he stood firmly by the belief that it was meant for middle-aged women and elderly couples. Scarlett had made them something he looked forward to.

“Don’t be daft. We’re never giving up our brunches." Tom hurried to the kitchen nook to grab a bottle of Merlot and a pair of wine glasses. Scarlett sunk into the recliner in his living room. When he returned, he sat down on his only other piece of furniture and handed her a drink.

Silence fell as the two sipped on their red wine. Tom’s glass nearly slipped through his fingers when Scarlett let out an unexpected yelp. “What is it?” he chuckled, surprised.

“You should throw a housewarming party!” she exclaimed, bouncing around in her seat. Her eyebrows were raised, awaiting Tom’s reaction.

He was confused. “A housewarming?”

Scarlett was up and out of her chair, pacing around the empty room. Tom could practically see the gears turning in her head. “It could be a lot of fun, Tom,” she insisted. “Just a small gathering of good friends drinking champagne and basking in your glory.”

Tom was dubious -- he barely had any furniture, and moving into a new flat wasn’t the most valid reason to throw a party -- but Scarlett looked set on it. “We could invite the Chris-es, Robert…” he finally suggested.

“Benedict could come, and I could invite Romain,” Scarlett continued, listing off with her fingers. “Elliott could bring Kyle…” She stopped in her tracks, her contented smile falling from her face. “God, I worry about those two.”

Scarlett didn’t realize she’d said that last comment aloud until she caught the bewildered tilt of Tom’s head. She pinkened slightly. “It’s just...ugh,” she groaned. “Do you even think they like each other?”

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? Scarlett was staring at him expectantly, like his opinion wasn’t ridiculously biased. “What do you mean?” he asked, hoping his curiosity came off as nonchalance.

Scarlett bit nervously on a French-manicured nail. “I don’t know,” she sighed. She perched on the arm of Tom’s recliner and leaned closer to him. “Can I tell you something?” Tom nodded, and Scarlett hastily added, “You have to promise not to repeat this to anyone.”

Tom reverted to his twelve-year old self and did the ‘cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die’ gesture, to confirm how incredibly serious he was. Scarlett rolled her eyes. Then she spilled:

“Elliott doesn’t usually date, and she’s not close to many people, either,” she said in a low voice. “She doesn’t even seem to enjoy going out. All she ever does is work, and even then, she’s alone. I set her up with Kyle because they seemed to click when they met, but she doesn't exactly seem head-over-heels for the guy."

“Has she told you anything about her past relationships?” Tom asked. “Maybe she was hurt in the past.” It hadn’t occurred to Tom until that very moment to wonder why Elliott was the way she was. Her guarded, aloof personality had to have come from somewhere.

Scarlett looked irritated; a wrinkle was forming between her blonde brows. “She’s really insistent on keeping her private life private. I feel like she doesn’t care about our friendship at all.” Scarlett hung her head dejectedly and pulled absently at a loose thread in her chair.

Despite Elliott’s general reservedness, Tom had been under the assumption that she and Scarlett shared a great relationship. It turned out that only one of them was putting in effort. All of a sudden, Tom felt indignant on his friend’s behalf. This was the first time he’d felt anything besides attraction toward Elliott.

“Some people have more trouble opening up than others,” Tom told Scarlett, ignoring the spark of anger her confession had lit within him. “If you try a little harder, you’ll get through to her. I’m sure of it.”

The words seemed to convince her because lifted her head, smiling a bit. “I’m hope you’re right.” Scarlett wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the remaining Merlot so she could refill her and Tom’s glasses. “Now let’s get back to the task at hand,” she requested, positioning herself beside Tom. “We’ve got a housewarming party to plan.”


End file.
